


Burning Down the House

by ZaliaChimera



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Begging, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Consensual, Consensual Kink, Consensual Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Hair-pulling, M/M, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Orgasm, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Safewords, Smut, Spanking, Spreader Bars, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 08:04:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11077425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaliaChimera/pseuds/ZaliaChimera
Summary: Tucker has seen every way that Wash punishes himself with little discomforts. At least this way, he knows that they're both enjoying it and getting what they need.





	Burning Down the House

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saltsanford](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltsanford/gifts).



“How long has it been?”

Wash makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a whimper, and looks up at Tucker. His eyes have gone hazy, unfocused, mouth slack with need. Tucker grins and runs his thumb against Wash’s bottom lip until a tongue flicks out to lick at it weakly. 

“You know, we could have been done with this ages ago, but you had to go and be a macho idiot and prove a point.”

Wash sucks in a harsh breath, and looks like he’s about to say something, but instead it comes out as a sob, thick with need. Tucker slides fingers into his hair; it’s longer now, growing out from the standard military buzz-cut, and fuck he loves it, and loves that Wash goes all stiff and shuddery when he pulls it. he can drag the best sounds out of him that way. 

He does it now, curls his hand into a fist and pulls Wash’s head up, and he can see shiver work its way right down Wash’s body. He’s fucking glorious. Tucker could spend all day drinking in the sight of him. He’s bent over the wooden bench, arms cuffed to it and it leaves the lovely expanse of his back and ass bare. Tucker could lose himself just watching the tense and flex of strong muscles, the way he rolls his shoulders to relieve some of the tension he must be feeling by now. 

But no, Tucker has a job tonight, and that job is wrecking Wash enough that all he can do is collapse into bed and sleep. 

Tucker keeps Wash’s head tilted back, just enough to hit the edge of pain. Wash likes that, discomfort. It would drive Tucker mad if they hadn’t found this outlet, because he knows Wash. he’s found him sleeping on a piece of shit mattress, more wires and lumps than anything else. He’s seen Wash gulp down cold coffee rather than fucking get a new cup, or wrestle with an ancient appliance rather than replace it because Agent Washington thinks he deserves to be uncomfortable so he makes life that bit harder for himself.

And Tucker is sick of it.

He leans in finally, presses their lips together. It’s not much of a kiss; Wash is too desperate by now to do more than whine against Tucker’s mouth, his hips bucking desperately without hope of relief. Tucker presses his tongue into Wash’s mouth, gives him a taste of what Tucker wants to do to him as he fucks his mouth with lips and teeth and tongue. He pulls away after a moment, and presses his forehead against Wash’s sweat-slick brow. 

“You okay?” he asks, voice dropping low and concerned. He thinks he is, thinks that he would notice, and thinks that Wash would tell him if he wasn’t, but there’s still that niggle of worry and fuck, he’s not going to be Wash’s tool of self-destruction.

Wash blinks a few times, and then a smile curls his lips into a breathless smile. “‘m good,” he says. His voice is raspy from moaning, thick with sex in a way that sends heat right to Tucker’s groin, like he really needed help with that. He’s been hard since he tied Wash’s arms and opened him up and slid the vibrator into that perfect ass.

“Good,” Tucker says, and kisses him once more for good measure, a quick peck on the lips. He lets Wash lower his head and then slides a hand along his back. Scar tissue moves a little different to untouched skin, or at least it does when it’s a deep and layered as Wash’s is, thick knots of it cutting through flesh, and overlaid over it, a faint circuit-board pattern. Tucker hadn’t believed it at first when he’d seen it, thought maybe it was a tattoo or something. He’d asked Wash who had frowned and dragged on his shirt quickly and that had ended that conversation because the fuck is healthy communication anyway?

Tucker rests a hand against the small of Wash’s back, pressing down lightly to still the relentless movement of his hips. There’s nothing for him to grind against anyway, but the movement is instinctual and it’s a fucking gift being able to see Wash unwind. 

His ass still bears the red marks of Tucker’s handprint, splayed across his skin like a brand. So sue him, if he’s a little possessive sometimes. So many times when he’s thought he’d lose everything, he gets to be possessive about the things he gets to keep. 

He scrapes a fingernail over the red mark and hears Wash cry out softly in response. Tucker grins and then kneels down behind him, hands gripping Wash’s thighs. His legs are held apart by a spreader bar, the the end of a thick black vibrator pokes out from between his cheeks. Tucker nudges it, starting up the movement of Wash’s hips again, as he desperately seeks release.   
And then he bites down on that red hand print like it’s a fucking apple, and Wash screams. It’s just about the most satisfying noise he’s ever heard from Wash. He laves his tongue over the light imprint of teeth, and then does it again. No scream this time, but Wash’s breath comes hard and fast, and that’s more than enough encouragement to get Tucker to keep going, until there’s bite marks all across Wash’s perfect butt. They’ll be gone all too soon, but he knows that Wash will remember it.

“Tucker, please…” It escapes Wash, more moan than words, but Tucker has learned to decipher the noises of fucked out and needy Agent Washington.

“Please what?” Tucker asks, grinning for a second before he taps the base of the vibrator again, watching Wash’s ass clench around it.

“Please… please… oh god…” Tucker waits patiently. At this, at least, he can be patient. The reward is worth it. “Please, I need… I need…” And Wash needs to learn to use his damn words. Tucker can wait all fucking day.

He gives a soft hum, and starts to play with the vibrator while Wash babbles mostly incoherent nonsense. He twists it slowly, then pulls it out a few inches only to slam it back in, a movement that makes Wash fall silent for all of a second before he’s begging again, words slurring into each other in his haste.

“Tucker, oh god, Tucker please, please…” It’s like a mantra, and Tucker would be lying if he said that he didn’t get off on hearing his name said like that, like it’s the most important thing in the world.

“C’mon Wash,” he says, “you’ve got to tell me. More time? Is that it? You want me to leave you like this for longer?” He can’t resist that bit of teasing and Wash all but sobs at his response. Or maybe that’s because Tucker just slid a finger in alongside the vibrator, stretching him wide. It’s probably a bit of both.

“Please… I need to- let me come, Tucker, please!”

Tucker lets out a breath. God, he’s hard. He could probably come just from hearing Wash beg, and some day he’s going to try it. 

“Good boy,” Tucker says instead. 

He switches the vibrator onto the highest setting, a maddening rumble that pulses in patterns that are impossible to adjust to. Wash gives another of those gorgeous cries and Tucker grips his hips and slides between the bench and Wash’s spread legs. His cock is hard and red, slick with liquid and it’s a wonder he hasn’t come already. 

It won’t be long.

Tucker smirks and then wraps his lips around Wash’s cock. No preamble, no warning, just hot mouth, hot cock and Wash writhing above him, as much as he can when he’s bound and spread out like a fucking offering at the Temple of Lavernius Tucker. He sucks him down, throat working, lips tightening to create that perfect suction that he knows Wash loves. He’s not said as much, but Tucker has had practice.

He’s right, it doesn’t take long. Wash comes with a ragged cry, voice worn down from screaming. Tucker doesn’t stop though, keeps licking and sucking until he’s milked dry, sagging against the bench like a puppet with cut strings.

“Tucker,” Wash says, raspy with spent lust. “Stop. Please?”

He sounds fucking dazed, and it isn’t his safe word, but Tucker pulls off anyway, recognising the worn out sound of his voice. There’s a time to push, to laugh and tease him some more, and this is not that time.

He switches the vibrator off and slowly pulls it out to toss aside on the table. He keeps his hand against Wash’s back, murmurs soft words of encouragement as he moves on to the restraints; ‘You’re so good, Wash, so proud of you, fucking hottest thing I’ve ever seen’.

Finally he gets Wash settled in his lap on the huge-ass comfy char that they got for this room specifically. Wash’s head is pressed against his shoulder as he sips water through a straw and Tucker strokes his back. 

“Was that good?” Tucker asks later, when he’s pretty sure that Wash can speak again, and when the hazy expression has solidified into something sharper and more coherent.

“Mmmm, I suppose it’ll do,” Wash says. Tucker can feel the smile against his cheek, and doesn’t retaliate more than swatting gently at his bare ass. 

“Yeah well, if that’s what you think, next time we’re trying the fucking machine.”

And from the way that Wash mouths at his neck and shudders, he won’t have any arguments when the time comes.


End file.
